miles baines: riff-raff! street rat! (mimicks) wrote in emillion,
THE JOB.
By the time they finally trundled in, it was late afternoon and the sun was starting to tilt in the sky, beginning its slow creeping descent towards the horizon. Miles watched it with some mild trepidation. The carriage had been slower than expected, but that was fine: they still had enough time to touch up their disguises, gather all their instruments, and flash the appropriate paperwork proving that yes, indeed, they were nought but the scheduled performers, as requested for this special New Year’s Day concert.
The inhabitants of Wildebarrow—a particularly strange mountain town with an ancient legend about an enchanted wheelbarrow running amok—were a quaint sort, and they’d swallowed the story whole, also trusting that the bards would be staying overnight after their performance. (This, of course, was not happening.)
So when the carriage rolled to a halt and all the bards came clambering out, landing in the dirt and stretching their limbs, a public official came bustling up to greet them.
“You must be the bards we’ve heard so much about!” she said, beaming. “Acafellas, was it? Here Comes Treble? You groups always have the funniest names.”